


From Behind The Veil

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Intergluteal Sex, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Pining, Voyeurism, i guess, jonmartin (mentioned), mentions of Mike Crew, praisekink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28694943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Oh, he was hopeless!First he pined after Jon and now that he was so utterly out of reach, Martin lusted after his next boss.Guilt washed through him and Martin pacified it with the promise that his feelings for Jon were not at all comparable with this outburst of sexual tension.It was not that Martin was in love with Peter, after all. It was just… convenient.And who was he to let an opportunity like this go to waste?Beggars couldn’t be choosers after all!Oh, and Martin could beg. And he would prove that to Peter.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19
Collections: Anonymous





	From Behind The Veil

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Longing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16374512) by [Zai42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42). 



„ _ Statement of Holly Simmons, regarding a roller coaster ride. Statement number 0180421. Statement given on April 21 _ _ st _ _ 2018, audio recording by Martin Blackwood, assistant to Peter Lukas.” _

The tape recorder whirred and Martin allowed the words on the preprint to take him away, his voice even as he read them aloud to the ever hungry Patron he so desperately wished he didn’t serve.

He had felt it; his alliances shifting and taking a different shape than the endless curiosity that seemed inherent to the ones who had pledged themselves to the Eye.

Martin had cut himself off, like Peter had wanted him to, and even though he still could feel the Ceaseless Watcher like a thought at the back of his mind, he had become… content in the cool emptiness the Lonely had taught him to embrace.

The Forsaken felt more like a Patron Saint to him than the Eye – the Eye was demanding, needy with the urge to know, while the Forsaken felt more like… coming home.

Not for the first time Martin wondered if he had been made for the Lonely.

“ _ -and just as the safety belts came down, someone slipped on the seat next to me, and I thought: Yes, this is fine. But, turns out, it was not fine!” _

He had felt his connection to the Lonely grow, and sometimes the urge to be alone was so overpowering he couldn’t stand the subway ride home, it was so crowded, it physically made him ill. He even sometimes wished he could shroud himself in the Lonely like Peter did.

In the beginning it had startled Martin, but people just appearing out of thin air had been the least of his problems and the smallest of horrors he had faced since he had started working for the Institute.

“ _ I mean – him being handsome was the fine part. Even though he had this weird scar, like… a flash of lightning? Not like Harry Potter, but more like an actual thunderbolt! He was so tall it was almost rude, and his legs were so gangly his feet bumped mine repeatedly, and just as we reached the… like, peak of the roller coaster, before the big drop, you know, he turned his head and gave me a broad smile – he didn’t even look excited, we could have been sitting on a bench in the park for how relaxed he was – and he said, I kid you not: ‘Do you want to know what flying feels like?’” _

And in the past few days, Martin had actually become very good at localizing Peter, even though he couldn’t really see him, it was more of a feeling.

And Martin had to admit it was… nice.

Even if they shared a space, like Martin’s little office. 

Martin was quite sure that it had been a broom cupboard at some point, but Peter had argued that if the room had a window, it qualified as an office, even if the window in question was so small not even the brightest ray of sunlight could squeeze through.

And even there, cramped as it was, Martin found it comforting, spending time here with Peter. Not that Peter made him feel less lonely, not even if he touched him, which had happened quite often in the past few weeks, now that Martin thought about it.

Spending time here with Peter was like riding an escalator with a stranger.

Even though you were not technically alone, the other person’s presence amplified the absence of those you loved, leaving you even more lonely than before.

And with those you loved, Martin meant Jon.

“ _ And just as the roller coaster dropped he winked at me and I was not  _ in _ there anymore. I was actually flying, the whole amusement park was gone, too, and… at first I was really scared, afraid to fall, but then I spread my arms as if that would do anything against the impact – and … I flew. As I said, the amusement park was gone, and instead there was only… blue sky. Nothing else. Blue sky above, blue sky below and I have never felt freer in my life. The sky’s blue… Skyblue… was so bright, and I could feel something resonating within me?” _

The thought of Jon made his heart swell and overflow with longing and affection and for the thousandths time Martin wished they could leave all of this behind.

But nothing ever came from wishing upon the stars, and so Martin had stayed, trying to save Jon and the world by being so lonely it was crippling, he wasn’t sure if he had ever felt anything else at all.

Martin’s spine straightened as he felt something in front of him shift, as if someone stepped out from behind a veil.

Peter.

He could feel him entering Martin’s cupboard of an office, steps slow, as if he had not one worry in the world.

Martin continued reading, not daring to allow his gaze to slip away from the piece of paper in front of him.

Peter unhurriedly stepped closer and Martin could feel his cold hand on his shoulder, stroking over his back in a gesture of possessiveness.

They were still parted by a veil of the Forsaken, of course, and even though Martin had attuned his senses to the Lonely, his understanding of the Patron was not as deep as Peter’s – they were still Avatar and Sacrifice.

But there were a few things he had learned: Peter could see and hear him. Being watched on every step was nothing new to Martin, but the recent developments – namely, that Martin had learned how to feel Peter, even if he was in the Forsaken – had turned out to be the best piece of information Martin had gathered in a long time, since it was the smallest of silver linings on a very dark night sky and Martin had hoped that the odds would be in his favor for once.

Martin sucked in a sharp breath of air as Peter slipped onto the same chair Martin was occupying, and while Martin didn’t feel like he and Peter would somehow blend into each other, this proximity with the overwhelming feeling of being utterly alone in the world was highly distracting.

Still, his gaze wandered over the words on the page in front of him and Martin took a lot of pride out of the fact that his voice didn’t break.

“ _ I could feel the sun warming me, even though I couldn’t see it, and my stomach was doing somersaults but in a good way, a fun way, and I felt so free. I mean, in the back of my mind I wondered how I could go back to the roller coaster, but… I would not have been angry if this had been my life. It was beautiful, and I felt if I would just fly a little higher, reach a little further, I could touch the sky itself and… change it, somehow? That sounds stupid, I’m sorry-” _

Martin could feel Peter move on the other side of the veil, and if he had to take an educated guess, Peter was spreading his legs, feet planted firmly on the ground, head leaning back as he seemed to fumble with his shirt and – oh.

He was not fiddling with the buttons of his shirt, rather he was opening the buckle of his belt and then zipping down his pants.

Martin could feel the heat rise to his face, but still carried on reading the statement aloud, voice even, not betraying that he could feel his boss fishing out his half hard dick in Martin’s own office chair.

Martin swallowed hard and paused after he finished the next sentence, but picked up again, even though he could feel Peter shuddering on the other side of the veil. His hand undoubtedly slid over his shaft to thumb the glans, and Martin didn’t even have to reach out to know that Peter’s cock was fully erect now and that he was starting to build a rhythm, just as unhurried as he had sauntered in not even two minutes before.

“ _ You have no idea what it felt like. Like being in a roller coaster, but more real, riding the brink of terror and delight to the fullest, feeling safe and sound and utterly exposed and loving the thrill of the plunge, even though the impact would shatter me. But if shattering is the price to feel the fall, I would gladly pay it.” _

Martin could feel Peter shifting in the Lonely as his grip became tighter, his hand sped up and even though he couldn’t hear his boss’s moan, he felt the cold breath of air as he exhaled.

The movement of Peter’s hand stopped at that, and Martin felt a shiver run through Peter as his hand wandered further to cup his balls.

Martin still could feel Peter panting into his neck and he had to suppress a moan himself; there was something dangerously intimate about feeling his breath so close, and Martin would be lying if he said the other man’s arousal didn’t affect him.

His own inhale was much shakier than he would have liked to admit, but Martin continued reading and even though he couldn’t wait to be done with this statement, he kept his voice slow and steady.

“ _ I have never gotten sick on a ride before. Never, in my entire life. But when I came back to the roller coaster, I felt the tears on my cheeks and the emptiness in my heart and if I had gotten punched in the gut. _

_ The man next to me was gone, and when I asked the staff, they said the seat had been empty the whole time. _

_ I don’t know what happened, but I felt like I lost a part of myself in Skyblue. I feel like I am part of something bigger. _

_ I don’t know if the man took something from me, or if I offered it freely, but… _

_ I know he will be back. And then he will take me with him. _

_ This must sound so stupid, I am sorry for bothering you with that, but I wouldn’t know who else to tell this story to, and when I am gone I feel like at least someone should know who took me… Even if that someone is just an institute that collects spooky stories. I’m sorry if that offends you. Thank you for reading anyways. _

_ Statement ends. _

From what it sounds like Miss Simmons had an encounter with Mike Crew… A year after Daisy supposedly… took care of him. I don’t know what that means, but I don’t think it is good.

Daisy will not be pleased. I’m not sure if the Vast has chosen Miss Simmons as a victim, or Marked her or taken her to make her an Avatar, but I am sure that you, Jon, should you listen to this, will…  _ know _ . How convenient!

Anyways. Recording ends.”

Martin hurriedly stopped the tape recorder; the click was shockingly loud in the empty silence of his tiny office.

Peter had taken his cock in his hand again, head tipped back and breath tickling the back of Martin’s neck.

He closed his eyes and forced a few words out, voice hoarse as Martin felt his own arousal boil up in the pit of his stomach.

“You could have asked.”

There was a surprising lack of reaction from Peter; his hand didn’t slow as he pumped his cock and Martin licked his lips, the thought of sucking him off forcing itself to the front of his mind.

Oh, he was hopeless!

First he pined after Jon and now that he was so utterly out of reach, Martin lusted after his next boss.

Guilt washed through him and Martin pacified it with the promise that his feelings for Jon were not at all comparable with this outburst of sexual tension.

It was not that Martin was in love with Peter, after all. It was just… convenient.

And who was he to let an opportunity like this go to waste?

Beggars couldn’t be choosers after all!

Oh, and Martin could beg. And he would prove that to Peter.

“Peter. Please.”

His voice was whinier than he would have liked and he could feel Peter’s hand speed up, an unheard moan tousling the short hair on the nape of his neck.

Martin understood this as the encouragement it indeed was and hung his head, eyes hidden by his dark-blond curls, one hand curling on the desk next to the tape-recorder, the other one palming his own growing hard-on through his slacks.

“Please, Peter. I don’t want to do this on my own. I know…” Martin huffed and forced his hand from his still clothed prick to put it on the table as well.

He huffed and felt Peter shift again; one hand still worked his cock relentlessly, the other curled around Martin’s torso, snaking itself under the shirttail that had slipped out of his slacks.

Peter waited.

Martin finished his sentence: “I know that you will take good care of me. Please. I want you to do it.”

Peter’s hand wandered from his stomach to his chest, leaving an icy trail that pushed the air out of Martin’s lungs and left him almost burning with desire.

Peter pinched his nipple and Martin couldn’t suppress a moan at the sensation, sharp and cold and not enough.

His eyes slid shut as he could feel Peter’s scruffy beard, his cold, dry lips on the nape of his neck, slipping from past the veil to reward Martin for being such a good, lonely little subordinate.

Martin could feel something inside of himself uncurl at the unsaid praise and he didn’t know if he sobbed or moaned as Peter whispered:

“Get up. Take off your pants and your sweater.”

Martin almost tripped over his own feet with how quickly he tried to comply with Peter's order. Not that it was an order. It was more of a… suggestion.

He knew there were no consequences for him if he decided to act against it.

But praise was something Martin was starved for, and if he only had to do as Peter said, he knew that even someone as incompetent as Martin couldn’t fuck up.

Just lie back and think of the Forsaken.

A wry smile spread on Martin’s face as he braced himself on his desk, slacks and pants pooling on the floor around his feet, right next to his abandoned sweater.

“Sit back down.”

Peter’s hand hadn’t left his stomach, his thumb rubbing idle circles to a spot next to his bellybutton.

Martin hesitated. A heartbeat later Peter encouraged him, knowing what Martin needed, knowing Martin better than anyone had ever bothered to.

_ Besides Jon, desperate Jon, hopeless Jon, too-late Jon. _ Martin allowed the cold mist of the Lonely to wash away these thoughts, sighing with relief as they went.

“You’re not too heavy for me, Martin. Don’t worry about me. This is about you.”

Martin swallowed the thought that Peter had been the one who had decided that Martin’s office was the perfect place for a nice wank, and slowly sat down in Peter’s lap.

“There you are. Good boy.”

He was once again rewarded, this time with a kiss to the shoulder, after Peter had unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it aside.

“Open your mouth for me.”

Martin did so, this time without preamble, doubts washed away by Peter’s unwavering certainty and he knew he would do anything, if Peter would only call him a good boy again.

_ Martin knew he was pathetic, sorry and lacking in every regard _ . The Lonely didn’t offer to rinse that thought away.

But there was no need – Peter’s left hand, the one that had been previously wrapped around his prick, found Martin’s eagerly parted lips and he didn’t waste any time as he slid his index and middle finger in Martin’s mouth.

Martin huffed through his nose, feeling the hard length of Peter’s cock resting in between his cheeks and the salty taste of his boss’s precum on his tongue as he sucked his fingers eagerly.

Martin swirled his tongue around Peter’s digits, and he hummed in agreement, as if Martin had made a good suggestion to improve the employee's morale.

Well, this seemed to improve their employer’s morale, so Martin was sure the sound was justified.

After all Martin had practiced enough to know what to do with his tongue.

“Very good. Would you please brace yourself on the desk? Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Peter pulled his fingers out of Martin’s mouth and he could hear him spit somewhere – probably his own hand – because once Martin rested his elbows on the table he felt Peter’s hand giving his own prick a few pumps.

The next thing Martin felt was Peter’s cock sliding in between his cheeks, now slick enough that the friction wasn’t uncomfortable.

Peter gave an experimental thrust and Martin could feel him glide easily, the head of his cock dragging against his puckered hole, and Martin moaned.

He tensed for a short moment as he anticipated the next, surely painful thrust, should Peter try to breach him, but it never came, instead he rocked in between Martin’s cheeks with an unhurried but hard rhythm and Martin relaxed with a sigh.

The lips on his shoulder were back and he could feel Peter’s breaths cold against it, first a hard nip of teeth and then the swirl of his tongue, cooling the pain.

Martin was sure Peter had bitten hard enough to bruise him.

Peter Lukas was a possessive, jealous man, Martin had learned a long while ago.

“There you go.”

His voice was rough and Peter’s thrusts sped up; his right hand snaked up Martin’s torso, blunt nails raking over his clavicle, until he palmed Martin’s left pec roughly, only to pinch his nipple again.

Martin gave a needy whine at that and Peter nuzzled the back of his neck.

“Shh, you don’t want anyone to hear you, Martin.”

Martin considered asking Peter to hide them behind the veil of the Forsaken, but that thought evaporated as his boss’s free hand took hold of Martin’s poor, neglected cock and dragged his thumb over the leaking head.

“Please- Peter, I- … ah-”

Peter bit him again, sucking hard at the maltreated flesh of Martin’s neck and all air seemed to be punched out of his lungs.

“Shh, I’ve got you, Martin. You’ll be a good boy for me, won’t you?”

His answer was a low moan and Martin could feel Peter chuckle behind him.

Martin couldn’t say if the arousal or the embarrassment made his face burn, but he knew that he was easy, he should feel ashamed to bend over for his boss just because he directed a few kind words at him. Nevertheless he shifted his weight to meet Peter’s thrust enthusiastically, hands balled into fists on the surface of his desk.

Martin could feel the sweat gathering on his forehead, his curls sticking to his skin.

Between Peter’s urgent thrusts between his cheeks and the perfectly tight hand wrapped around his cock, Martin knew he was hopelessly close to orgasm.

“Peter- I-… ah, oh God, I’m close-”

He kissed his neck again, the stubble rasping over the freshly blossoming bruise on his neck, and Martin squeezed his eyes shut.

“Then come for me, Martin. I want to take good care of you, since you have been so good for me.”

Martin found it unfair on a cosmic level that Peter still was as composed as he was, while Martin was reduced to a moaning, sweating mess, but that thought was chased away as Peter’s wrist twisted in just the  _ right _ way and Martin tumbled over the edge, a mewling moan accompanying his climax.

Peter held Martin tight as he shook through his orgasm, and gently placed him on the desk, still rocking in between Martin’s ass cheeks as he pushed Martin’s shirt up to his shoulder blades.

Martin’s eyes fluttered open, gaze stuck on the tape recorder.

Peter moaned hoarsely behind him and came over Martin’s lower back.

He shivered, as if the cold was only catching up with him now, and he didn’t recognize his own voice as he said:

“In the first drawer.”

From what it sounded like, Peter opened and closed a drawer and fumbled with a package of tissues.

Martin assumed that Peter would first clean his own hand and then him - and indeed a moment later he could feel a tissue wiping away the evidence of Peter’s climax.

Martin sat upright again, gathering his pants and slacks even though his legs still felt a bit wobbly.

He would not face Peter with his dick out, thank you very much.

When he turned around again, Peter threw a few wadded tissues into Martin’s trash can, eyebrows raised just a fraction, and Martin knew that whatever Peter had to say, he wasn’t going to like it.

“From what it seems like you have made a lot of progress. I wouldn’t have expected you to be as attuned to the Lonely as you already are. I am very proud of you, Martin.”

The smile Peter offered him seemed to be genuine and Martin felt sick to his stomach.

“Thank you, Peter.”

His voice sounded hollow, and Peter’s smile went out like a light-bulb with a blown fuse.

“Don’t be so sad. This is a  _ good _ thing, Martin.”

Peter reached out and gave Martin a few pats on the shoulder – the bruises sang with pain, as if they knew who had brought them into being and Martin nodded silently.

Peter took a step and disappeared, this time for good, and Martin slowly sat down in his office chair again, eyes trained on the tape recorder.

A small sob escaped him, before he could swallow it along with the rest of his self-pity.

He just had been closer to anyone than he had been in months and felt more forsaken than ever.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for the sad end.  
> Mike lives in this because this is a present to a friend of mine and Mike is her fave.  
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
